i will bite the hand that feeds
and feel red between my teeth
down to the bone
maybe then i’ll drown the poppies in my chest
that reach out to you
like you are their sunshine
warm and familiar
with your fingertips like matchsticks that ignite me
as if i am doused in gasoline
and when i am charred to the bone
licking wounds that never seem to heal
i seem to remember too late
a black cat that cuts across my path
tooth and claw
i’d gnaw off my hand before reaching out for yours again